Empty Love, Empty World
by Incoming-Duck-Fiend
Summary: Amestris has fought for his people, bled for his people, but is about to fight for only himself and enter a whole new battle: LOVE.
1. Chapter 1

"**The world is not dangerous because of those who do harm but because of those who look at it without doing anything" –Albert Einstein **

At first the world had panicked. Who wouldn't? A strange and different nation had only appeared out of nowhere—there was no reason to lose your head over something so simple.

Of course America had been the one to welcome and communicate with the new nation. He had dibs on any "aliens" that might happen upon earth, so he had traveled to the nation the very hour it had mysteriously arrived.

But what he found had shocked him.

He had arrived, dressed nice (blame England) with a welcoming basket of big macs and everything one might need to survive a Sunday, only to find a land devastated and blood-soaked.

As he entered the strange land the familiar sight of war was everywhere. It clogged his nose with the rusting scent of blood, made his eyes dim with grim reflection, and his gloved hands tighten into fists.

But what he least expected to see was a single black haired man standing in a sea of dead bodies.

The man stood staring up at the blue sky, his hands drenched in blood and tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

America made his way through the corpses; trying not to stare into the lifeless eyes of people he would never get the chance to share the wonderful invention of a big mac. Carefully, he approached the young man, setting down the welcoming basket and gently setting a hand on the quivering shoulder before him.

The man twitched as he awoke from his own lifeless trance. Black hair fell over the darkest set of blue eyes America had ever seen as the man turned to stare at him.

America searched for some inspiring and noble words, he was the hero after all, but only found one. "Hello." In the end, it wasn't all that inspiring, but it did its job.

The blue eyed man snickered. "Fuck—"the next word came out more as a small laugh, "hi."

America was surprised. The man knew his language. Not only that, he also knew the swear words! "I'm America," he paused, "Who are you?"

The man sighed and raised a hand to wipe tears from his cheeks. Before he could wipe away the now drying tears he stopped and stared at the blood. "I'm Amest—" he paused as he stared at the dead around his feet. "Hmm, well I was Amestris, but half my people have died due to my carelessness. I don't think I deserve to be a nation . . . I don't deserve to be anything."

America knew the feeling.

"I'm Roy . . . only Roy."

Okay, so I had a sudden epiphany as I walked around my house today: Wouldn't it be wonderful it Edward was Amestris?

Then I logged on to fanfiction and saw that other people have had the same ideas. Drat!

So, I went to my next idea and made Roy Amestris. He's a good guy after all, and I wouldn't mind him representing my nation.

I'm not use to writing such serious(?) stories, so it was new to me, and fun in a sad way. I hope to continue this idea and hopefully get a good reaction from my fellow anime/ manga lovers.

Please read and review. I want to know what you think!

**I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or Fullmetal Alchemist!**


	2. Chapter 2

"**Conquered, we conquer."**

**-Titus Maccius Plautus**

"So you're not an alien?" America asked. He had tried to maintain a serious face, but it had slowly disappeared. It left a pout on his lips, reminding Roy much of a little puppy.

Roy cocked his head. "Are you an alien?"

America's pout vanished. "No, dude! I'm the hero! But I know that is kind of intimidating, so you can just call me America . . . Now, back to the real problem: are you sure you're not an alien?"

"Alfred." England interrupted, setting down a tea tray next to the silent Roy sitting by a fire place. "Stop pestering him."

"Drop dead, old man!" Alfred shot back with a rather cheerful smile. "Eww, what is that? Oh god! Not more petrified couch stuffing! Don't eat it, Roy!"

But it was too late. Roy had already grabbed a piece of scone, his mouth watering.

America had brought him to England's house, wrapped tightly in a blanket, though the blanket hadn't stopped the shivering. England at first had been reluctant to allow the strange in-denial nation to enter his home. Like America, he knew the pain and hardship the nation was going though. He didn't need a visual reminder of his past, his present, and quite possibly his future.

But the second Roy collapsed into America's arms England felt he had no choice but to provide a safe house for the nation—at least for the night.

The one night turned into three, for Roy did not wake up the following morning. He slept in a state that wasn't one could call peaceful or silent. He screamed and thrashed like he was reliving his past in his dreamland. England and America could only speculate about the history of the nation—none of it was good.

He had awoken on the fourth day. He looked horrible: his skin was pale, shadows clung underneath his eyes, and his hair stuck up in so many directions it was almost comical. But England could sense that the nation was revived in a way. He had had some time to think things over. It was about time he decided upon his future.

Roy sunk his teeth into the "petrified couch stuffing." He chewed, he swallowed, and (thank god) he didn't pass out or die.

England felt himself smile triumphantly. "See? Not everyone has bad taste in food like _you_ do . . . and everyone else!"

"He probably burned off his taste buds or something!" America said.

Roy watched the two with calm, amused eyes.

"You can't burn _OFF_ your taste buds, you nitwit!"

Roy almost laughed. Roy had to guess the two were very close friends, even though they seemed to hate each other.

"Whatever, Arthur. No one cares about your stupid opinions."

"It's not an opinion! It's a bloody fact, you wanker!"

Roy had known other nations back in his own world . . . his own world. But he had not gotten very close to them. He had known Xing for a while. A nice young-looking boy who the people believed was their prince. He was courageous and always fought bravely for his people, but he sure as hell could run up a bill when eating out.

That was the closest he had gotten with anyone. He didn't need to get to close to anyone . . . there were so many presences in his body that he felt as if he knew the whole world. And it was almost true. Inside his soul was the essence of all his people.

Every last one.

Every person he fought for, bled for, and conquered for. Most of the people didn't even know he existed. But he knew they were there, also fighting and bleeding.

But most of all they seemed to be loving. Half of his population had been destroyed due to a silly civil war he couldn't stop. He could feel the pain and the suffering they were going through . . . he could also feel the strong love they had for each other.

Roy had never felt love. Not even for his people. He mostly felt responsible for them, like he was the parent of a million and counting teenagers.

His thoughts were cut short when a sudden loud banging noise interrupted England's and America's quarrel.

The door to the living room suddenly burst in. A smiling face shouted: "_Hola_!"

Another person pushed into the room, knocking aside the other and swaying back and forth precariously. "We've come for E.T.! Where is the little—"

"Shut up, Gilbert!" Yet another person burst in, waving around an empty bottle of liquor. "You'll scare the little thing with all your shouting, _mi amore_!" though he himself was shouting.

The three intruders crashed into the room together, obviously drunk. One was tall with silver hair and blood red eyes. A little chick sat upon his head—it also seemed to be drunk, wobbling back and forth on the nest of silver hair. Another, the one who had screamed "_hola_", was sun-kissed with an oblivious air around him. The other just seemed like a pervert.

England jumped up. "What the bloody hell are you three doing here? I thought I told you to never enter my home on penalty of death, froggie! And _you_ two!"

"Shut up!" Prussia yelled, waving his hands wildly to silence everyone. "I've come for the alien. Hand him over nice-like and I will leave without beating your face in. Because I am just that awesome!"

America stood up, immediately shielding Roy. "Too bad, Prussia! He's mine! You can't have him. Besides, I called dibs on any aliens last year at that Christmas party. So deal, yo!"

Prussia leaned to the side, trying to catch a view of the alien he was after. America quickly blocked his view, doing it over and over again until he was out of breath. Prussia stopped, his face flushed from the liquor. He snapped his fingers and Spain and France jumped forward, grabbing the arms of America and holding him down.

"Is this the alien?" Prussia asked, staring hard at Roy who stared back with silent curiosity.

"Maybe," Roy said a grin on his face. "Who are you?"

Prussia pursed his lips. "I am the Awesome Prussia who rules—"

"Use to rule!" England broke in. "You're no longer a country, remember Gilbert. You're just a burden to us all—especially that bastard Germany."

Prussia growled. "I'm still awesome . . . I just need to conquer some land and stuff. You'll see! Anways, I've come to bring you—the alien—home with me! I want to show you to West!"

America began to squirm. "I'll bite you guys if you don't let me go! Gilbert, he's mine~!" America lashed out, his booted foot kicking over the tea stand. The brown tea spilled onto the already dying fire which was the only source of light. The room was immediately shrouded in darkness.

Someone screamed like a girl (probably, France), a small snapping sound was heard, and the fire returned to the hearth.

Everyone stood in momentary shock. All except Roy who was standing with his right hand outstretched towards the flame.

America was the first to speak. "Wow! Did you do that, Roy? That was like so awesome! Light England's hair on fire next!"

Roy spent the next thirty minutes lighting whatever they wanted him to spontaneously combust, everything except England's hair and Spain's pants. They all enjoyed watching Roy work his mysterious magic; even Roy enjoyed making them happy.

Everyone but Prussia was enjoying themselves. He was staring at the strange nation with blood red eyes, analyzing and sly.

"What was your name again?" Prussia asked when the excitement had died down.

"His name is Amest—" England began.

"It's Roy Mustang," Roy interrupted.

"That Roy sure was nice," Spain said smiling. "I'd like to take him to my tomato harvesting. I think Lovi would adore him!" The Bad Touch Trio had been kicked out of England's house when Roy had started to feel tired. "Right, Gilbert, Francis?"

Prussia stared at the ground thinking. "I heard England whispering to that stupid America. He said they should send aid to Roy's home. It seems half his people are dead . . . and that they are vulnerable."

France quickly caught on. "No! Gilbert, you can't be thinking—. No, you saw what Roy was able to do. He could create flame from nowhere, and his people can do the same. Maybe even worse! You're gonna end up being killed. Almost like the time you tried to invade Egypt. You should really learn from Italy." He wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck.

Gilbert smiled. "Of course I'm not thinking about possibly attacking him while he is weak and defensless and possibly creating a new empire so that I can be Awesome again. (Not that I'm not awesome right now!) Nope. I think I'll just pay him a nice visit one of these days."

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia or Fullmetal Alchemist! **

Sorry if it is lame.

I'm sorry if it is slow, too. I promise the romance, drama, and action are coming . . . in a little while.

Review if you have the time!


	3. Chapter 3

"**And I don't want the world to see me,**

**Cause I don't think that they'd understand.**

**When everything's made to be broken,**

**I just want you to know who I am."**

**-Iris**

"Say hola, Romano!" Spain yelled happily at the grumpy Italian.

"Vaffanculo," the sour Italian, Romano, mumbled. "Why is this alien bastard here?"

Spain puckered his lips up into a pout. "He is my guest, mi tomato pequeño. Be kind to him!"

Roy stared at the huge green field before him. He could see the red ripe tomatoes in-between the green leaves. He wanted to go over and pick one—he had tried, too—but the Italian had given him a glare that had made his blood freeze. He'd wait until Spain gave him the A-Okay.

He didn't really like the little Italian. But he had to admit that he was quite fascinated by the long brown curl on top of the Italian's head. He wanted to reach out and tug on it for some reason . . .

Spain smiled once again. "Hey, Lovi! Isn't Ita-Chan supposed to stop on by today?"

Romano gave the Spaniard an icy glare. "I don't know, jackass! Why don't you go and call him! He's on your fucking speed dial! He's number two—I'm number three!" And with that little outburst Romano ran into the tomato field, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

"Lovi!" Spain called out to the receding Romano. "Wait, Lovino!"

Roy watched with curiosity. "What was that all about?"

"I don't know. He probably ate a sour tomato or something . . . he's been acting like this for a while, though." Spain shook his head.

"Won't he get lost or something?" Roy said. The green fields seemed to stretch forever. "It looks like it might get dark soon."

Spain shrugged his shoulders. "We've walked these fields together since he was young. I don't think he can get lost. Besides he'll wander back when he gets hungry."

Roy smiled. "But he has all those tomatoes to eat. He could survive a life time out there."

"But he is italiano, mi amigo. He can't live without pasta," Spain said, smiling up at the receding sun. A hint of worry lingered beneath his eyes, but Roy couldn't see it behind the Spaniards cheery disposition.

The two picked tomatoes until the sun had touched the ground, Roy sneaking a bite of a tomato every time he thought Spain wasn't watching. They were joined by another Italian and a rather scary looking blonde man who Roy came to know as Germany.

"Antonio!~" The Italian jumped into the arms of Spain. "I am so happy! Ve, I haven't seen you or Romano since forever . . . Umm, where is he?"

"He probably ran away because he didn't want to see you," Germany muttered, talking to himself.

"What? That can't be! Tell him, Antonio! I'm too cute; Lovino would never run away from me! Germany why are you so mean to me?"

Germany was taken aback for a second. His cheeks turned pink as he wondered if he should apologize to his Italian lover and embrace him. "Well you know I am probably right. Stop crying."

"Do you think we should go look for him now?" Roy asked.

"Ah!" Italy jumped as he first noticed Roy. "Don't kill me! I'll do anything! I just want to see my brother!"

"I'm . . . not going to kill you," Roy mumbled slightly worried for the other nation. How could he be so jumpy and still be a country? Well, whatever. There were bigger things to wonder about. Like where the little sour Italian went. "Should we go look now, Spain?"

"I think so," Spain said, eyeing the direction where Romano had stormed off. "He's never been gone this long before . . . he's also scared of the dark." A small smile appeared on his lips. "He usually sleeps in my bed when he is scared—Oh! But he won't like that I told you."

"So that little brat ran off?" Germany asked. "Well, we better go about this strategically. Spain you take that direction, Roy the other, and I'll go this way."

"What about me, Germany?" Italy asked. "I wanna help!"

"Italy, you go inside and make pasta. Maybe the smell with lead the little twerp home."

"Ay ay, Captain!" Italy yelled and ran into Spain's house. The three could already hear the clatter and bangs being made in the kitchen.

"Let's do this," Germany said.

Roy looked off into the direction Spain was headed. He could see a very serious looking man who appeared to be Spain but the expression on the man's face almost made Roy doubt himself. The man disappeared quickly into the tomato field, calling out Romano's name.

Roy quickly walked in the direction he was appointed. He didn't really care if Romano got lost and possibly eaten by a monster. That wasn't his problem. Besides, the little Italian needed to learn how to defend himself. But he liked Spain, and this Romano seemed quite important to him. Roy wanted Spain to be happy, and it seemed Spain needed Romano in order to be happy.

He was almost jealous.

"Romano!" Roy called. He pushed aside tomato plants, checking to see if Romano was hidden between them. He was already tired of looking and he had scrapped his hands against the rough poles that supported the tomatoes. "Where are you, you little bastard?"

"Who are you calling a bastard, bastard? Come and say that to my pretty face, testa di merda!"

Roy jumped at the sudden voice. ". . . Romano?"

"Who do you think it is? Now come and save—I mean, give me some damn assistance."

It was too dark to see much. Roy contemplated about using his alchemy but stopped. He didn't want to set Spain's tomato field on fire. "Where are you exact—"

Before he couldn't finish. He felt his feet slip and he tumbled over into a dark pit. It all happened so fast that he couldn't even scream, but he didn't need to because someone let out a yelp of pain.

"OW! Get offa me, you bastard! I'll bite your ear off!"

Roy scooted off Romano but found his back pressed against cold stone. "Where are we?"

"Well, I was about to tell you that I fell down a well, but it seems you had to be an idiot and do the same thing I did!"

Roy grimaced. "You could have told me sooner!"

* * *

Yes! I did it! I finished another chapter . . . even though I should be doing my homework. Whatever, anime, manga, and fanfiction come first!

Umm, I used random Italian swear words I found on the internet. I'm not sure if they are right or not, but it was pretty interesting finding them. I think I should use them at school or something.

Anyways, thank you for reading and reviewing. I hope you had a good holiday and hope you have an even better new year.

Sorry for any errors. Don't fear telling me about them . . .

**I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or Fullmetal Alchemist. I don't own the song Iris either!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 2**

"**Love is like heaven, but it can hurt like hell." - Author Unknown**

It was dark. It was cold. And to make it worse an Italian was about two inches away from Roy's face.

"Can't you move over, bastard? I'm claustrophobic!"

Roy's shoulders scrapped against the stones of the moist well. His pants and shoes were wet and every time he moved he felt more uncomfortable and closer to losing his mind. His little Italian friend kept kicking at his feet and shoving at his hands every time he tried to help or say something . . . it was going to be a long night.

They had yelled and screamed for about fifteen minutes straight, but when they had heard a noise that sounded somewhat like a person, Romano had shoved his hand into Roy's mouth and told him to shut up with a rather frightening glare.

"Is that Spain?" he would mumble quietly to himself, listen, and then ask "Or is it that bastard Germany?"

Roy wanted to know what the difference was. Help was help. But the look on the little Italian's face told him it there was big difference in the two.

"Move your fucking foot, you alien bastard!" Romano snapped. His voice was getting course and even scarier than usual.

Roy sighed and moved. His bare arms were already raw from the rough walls around him. "I really wish I was trapped in a well with your brother. He seems nice—you're just a little brat."

The moon was directly up above the well's entrance. The silver rays allowed Roy to briefly see the fast flash of emotion on Romano's face. It was pained and sad and made Roy bite his tongue.

". . ." Roy contemplated if he should talk to Romano. He could be risking a kick in the face if he asked the wrong question. But maybe the Italian needed someone to talk to.

He paused again, and then asked "What's wrong with you?"

"What?"

Roy grimaced. Maybe he had asked what he was thinking in a wrong way. He wasn't use to talking to people, much less someone who could crack every tooth in his mouth (He remembered Spain saying something about Romano being in the mafia).

He held up his hands in surrender. "I mean, something seems wrong . . . do you wanna talk to me . . . or something."

Romano's tense muscles relaxed a bit and he kept his fist by his side instead of in Roy's face. He moved his glare away from Roy and turned it on the defenseless moss on the wall. His cheeks slowly started to grow warm.

"No," he mumbled quietly.

Roy felt false confidence at the sudden vulnerable-looking Romano. He smiled slightly. "You sure, because I think we have a while to chit-chat together."

"If you wanna talk so much, bastard, why don't you tell me what the fuck is wrong with _you_?"

Roy froze. "What are you talking about?" His smile was gone.

"You're a nation aren't you?" Romano snarled. "Like Antonio and me?"

He didn't answer.

"Exactly!" Romano growled.

"'Exactly' what?" Roy asked. His tone was low and void of emotion. He could feel the emptiness and sadness he had felt the night America found him returning to his cold body. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

Romano snickered. "You're too afraid to admit you're a nation. You can't even stand up for your people. Are you running away from your responsibilities? Because that is what it looks like to me! You're hiding yourself away because of a little war your country had . . . so what? Get over it! People die all the time—you should have realized that by now. They're not like us. They don't live forever. And you're too fucking afraid to admit that!"

"No." Roy's voice was barely audible. "That's not true . . . I'm not running away. I'm just—"

"Just what?" Romano nudged at Roy's leg. "Taking a fucking siesta?"

Roy covered his dark eyes. He could feel the tears falling from his eyes but he pretended they were from the dirty water dropping from the walls of the well. "I let them die," he whispered. "I watched and felt as they murdered each over a stupid argument. I burnt those who tried to attack me . . . I killed my own people. How can I take care of them now?"

There was silence in the well for a few minutes. Romano could feel Roy shiver and shutter as he silently cried, and Romano let him. He just watched quietly and remembered the days he had spent in Spain's arms feeling the same remorse.

"You wanna know what you can do now?" Romano said when he believed Roy was truly ready to listen.

Roy raised his head, face wet with tears, but there was a small smile on his trembling lips. "Why not."

"You can go back," Romano said. "Help rebuild your country and make it even better than it was before. Get drunk when things are better and celebrate with your people. Maybe have a tomato or something somewhere in there . . . Just go back and be there for your people. Got it, bastard?"

Roy couldn't help—he laughed. The well ringed with the sound of laughter. It wasn't a happy laugher nor was it was a sad one. Roy just felt like he had to laugh because the answer he had been searching for was so simple.

He smiled at Romano. "You're right. That was a harsh way to tell me, but you're right."

"You wouldn't have listened to me if I had given it to you sugar-coated."

"Now will you tell me what's making you so sad, brat?" Roy asked. He felt somewhat closer to the Italian but that didn't mean he liked him. He knew Romano felt the same way.

"You don't expect me to spill my guts to you just because you spilled yours, do you?" Romano sighed when he saw Roy's face. He wasn't going to get out of this one. "My problem is my brother. My other fucking half!"

Roy listened.

"Everyone loves . . . No. I don't care about everyone else . . . Antonio loves him. Feliciano is the only one he seems to care about. It drives me crazy when he talks about him."

It was hard for Roy to believe that Romano was jealous over his brother for something like this. It was hard for him to believe that Romano thought Spain loved someone other than him. Seeing the look on Spain's face the moment he had stepped into the tomato field to find Romano, Roy knew that there was only one person Spain could love with all of his heart.

"You want my advice?" Roy asked. He didn't exactly believe he was qualified to give help out to people in this sort of field, but he had watched enough of those stupid soap operas to know a thing or two about jealousy when it came to love. Not personally, but he could kinda understand the way Romano was feeling.

Romano blushed brighter. "Fuck you."

Roy took that as a yes. "Kiss him."

"Hey!"

They flinched at the sudden voice. They looked up and spotted the cheery face of Spain which was like the sun to both of them and the tired face of Germany which just made them realize how exhausted they both were.

"Finally," they heard Germany sigh. "We've been looking forever. Good thing you're both idiots and fell down the same well."

"Shut up, you potato bastard! Don't make me come up there!" Romano shouted.

"Fine," Germany said. "Stay down there. But I'm at least getting Roy out."

Several feet of rope and about ten minutes later Roy was stretching his sore limbs and enjoying that fresh and open air around him. Romano followed his lead and moved his tired limbs cursing as he did.

"Lovi!" Spain cried out as he attacked Romano with a hug. "Why did you run away like that? You could have broken your neck. Ay! Died even!" He carried on in Spanish and Romano just rolled his eyes.

The tired Roy caught Romano's eyes and smiled at him, raising his eyebrows in question and prompting him to take his advice. He was curious to see if his advice actually helped.

Romano blushed. "Umm, Antonio?" He tried to break free from the Spaniard's tight grasp.

Spain's eyes sparkled. "What is it, Lovi?"

"I hate you!" Romano snarled. "I just wanted you to know that."

Roy sighed, Germany wasn't even paying attention and was half way home, and Spain seemed on the verge of tears.

"I'm not doing this because I love you or anything, tomato bastard," Romano said, cheeks brighter than the tomatoes surrounding him.

Then he locked lips with the tomato bastard he 'hated' so much. They both stood motionless, lips together, for a few seconds, both surprised. Then Romano felt as Spain smiled against his lips and held him tighter against him. Romano was glad he had listened to Roy's advice—not that he would ever admit it to him.

Roy had long since looked away from the passionate couple. He was walking after Ludwig and following the delicious smell that was in the air.

Ludwig slowed down a step and looked at Roy. "That must have been hell," he said. "I can't imagine spending more than ten minutes with that man. What are you planning to do now that you have survived?"

Roy smiled. "I plan to eat everything Romano's brother has fixed, get a shower to clean away whatever the hell is on my clothes, and then," he paused and looked up at the night sky, a sky so similar to the one he had seen from his land, "I'm going home."

There was a lot of SpaMano, but I just had to include my favorite pairing in this story.

Sorry for the slowness, I just had to stop Roy from being afraid of going home. Romano had to be a bit OOC to accomplish this, but whatever. At least we are done with it and we can finally get to the romance between Roy and the person I plan to pair him with.

So don't stop reading this weird fanfic just yet, please!

Thank you everyone who has read and reviewed. I love you!

**I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or Axis Powers Hetalia!**


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the wait . . .

There has been a lot going on lately . . . and by a lot i just mean i've been too lazy to write another chapter.

This chapter is pretty-how should i say it-bad. I've been in a terrible mood lately due to all the school work lingering over my shoulder, so i decided to cure some stress by staying up all night to write this! I hope you at least get something out of reading it.

**I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or Hetalia Axis Powers!**

Oh yeah, i planned to have the shorty appear from the very start, i just didn't know he'd have such a big role . . .

* * *

Roy had expected a somewhat grand welcome home. He wasn't asking for a parade—he just wanted someone to say "hello" or "welcome back." Instead, he was welcomed home by an angsty midget.

"Watch it, shorty!" Roy hissed as someone bumped into him from behind sending his luggage tumbling to the muddy ground.

"What'd you call me?" someone shouted.

Roy's eyes narrowed as he watched someone step on his suitcase and as another kicked it further away from him, spilling its contents into the road. There were so many people running and rushing to where ever the hell they were headed. All Roy wanted to do was get to some form of shelter and have a quick nap to cure his headache. But wait, he couldn't buy a hotel room without some form of money. After having someone almost steal his wallet from his pocket he had stored his money in his suitcase. He watched as a car road over his hope of a nice hotel room.

"Hey, pal! I'm talking to you, bastard!"

Roy closed his dark eyes. He rubbed and pinched the bridge of his nose as the person behind him kept shouting at him. There was too much emotion inside of him at the moment. Being on his land, finally being home, the emotions of every single person seemed to be intensified. Not to mention he had to deal with his own emotions. What was he feeling right now? Anger? No, more like complete and utter rage. He wanted to rip apart who ever was behind him into little shreds. No, he didn't want to—he was going to.

Pale hands clenched into fists as he quickly turned on his heels. He opened his mouth to scream his frustration into the face of the person who had cost him his luggage and stopped. His dark eyes widened as he stared into the face of his aggravator.

Golden eyes caught his own. They were full of flames and defiance. Hair the same extraordinary color was tugged into a loose ponytail; a few strands had slipped loose and were hanging in the eyes of the boy Roy was suddenly hypnotized by.

"You got a problem, bud?" the boy asked.

Roy gaped for a second as he tried to make his brain function once again. "Umm—I . . ."

"You wanna repeat what you just said to me? You know, the part about me being _so short an ant could squash me_!"

"I never said that," Roy finally muttered.

The boy raised a delicate golden eyebrow. "You sure? Good, because I don't like having to kill people in such public areas because they mouthed off to me." The boy turned to leave.

"Wait!" Roy shouted. He outstretched his hand to catch the boy's shoulder but stopped a second before.

The golden haired boy turned around with a confused and almost annoyed look on his face. "What? I got somewhere I need to be!"

Roy blinked as he quickly wondered why he had stopped the boy. He fumbled over a few words and felt his face suddenly heat up in embarrassment before he finally found a good enough excuse. "You owe me a place to stay."

The place to stay turned out to be a rugged and dirty looking apartment room that housed some sort of madman. There were sketches and rough drawings on the floor and on the walls. The windows were boarded with thick wood and only a few strands of light managed to seep through the cracks. Roy almost wished he hadn't asked to say.

Okay, he hadn't exactly asked to stay. After shouting and stopping the boy he had more like demanded a place to stay. The boy had just given him a look of disbelief which made Roy quickly explain how his luggage and money were now one with the mud.

"This is just for one night," the boy said as he closed the door behind him. "Then I want your ass out of here."

Roy almost smiled. He had heard that before and remembered how one night turned into several. Maybe he could convince the boy to let him stay longer just like he had done with Arthur. Of course being unconscious and ill had helped him convince Arthur—maybe he should feign illness.

That's when he realized he didn't have to feign it. He bared his teeth as his head exploded with a sudden sharp pain. He raised a trembling hand to his forehead and felt slick sweat coat his fingers. There was no pain when Roy hit the ground. All he saw was the surprised look on the boy's face as he tumbled to his knees.

"Hey!" The boy rushed to his side grasping his arms. Roy hissed in pain as the boy's right hand touched his skin. It sent fire up his arm. Golden eyes searched his face frantically. "You're burning up! What am I supposed to do?"

"It'll pass—," Roy huffed between pained gasps. Already he could feel his body beginning to calm down and relax.

The boy bit his lip, his eyes wide with worry. He just sat there holding onto Roy's shoulders as he waited and watched.

After awhile Roy was able to breathe slower and completely calm his body. His headache was still there but other than that he felt better. Things were calmer in his body—the swirling emotions that had once been so prominent in his body were now just whisperers. Only one emotion that was not his own stayed in his body—worry. He could feel it seeping into his body from the shaking hands at his shoulders.

"I'm okay," Roy said with a small smirk. "I've been gone too long. Should have expected to be overpowered by my people—they're strong after all."

The hands twitched. "You're people?"

Roy cursed himself silently. After spending so many days with other people like himself he had forgotten to keep his mouth quiet. He was so use to chatting with Alfred about the troubles and pains of being a nation that he had forgotten that not everyone knew who he was—what he was. He looked up into those golden eyes and sighed. Maybe someone finally should know.

"What's your name?" Roy asked.

The boy glared at him. "Why should I tell you?"

"Just tell me your name, kid!" Roy growled. His headache wasn't helping his mood.

"I'm not a kid! I'm seventeen!" he snarled. "The people call me the Fullmetal Alchemist—that's all you need to know."

"Fullmetal?" Roy let the word slide across his lips. It was strange and unpleasant to him. He wanted the kid's real name, but decided against being pushy. They both seemed to be hanging over the edge.

"Now," Fullmetal growled, "will you tell me what you meant by 'you're people?' Last time I checked some old fat man was fuhrer. Did you kill him or something?"

Roy picked at a loose thread in his shirt as he quickly thought over his decision. "No, I'm not fuhrer. I'm Amestris." In the end he just decided why not. The boy was obviously crazy by the looks of his apartment. Besides, who would believe a complete stranger?

Golden eyebrows furrowed. "Amestris? As in this country?"

"Yup," Roy said. He stood up slowly and began to look around the room as Fullmetal stared at the ground where he had been sitting. Slowly he moved around the room looking at books and flipping over papers quietly searching for something that would give away the identity of the short alchemist. 'You got any food here? I'm starving."

Silence was the only thing to answer him.

"Hey, ki—Fullmetal?" Roy turned around to look at the boy who was still sitting motionless on the floor. "You okay?" He hadn't expected the boy to be this surprised. He'd thought he would just shake it off as a joke.

Instead, the boy's golden eyes were grim and his fingers were tightly clenched. "Why are you here?" He asked.

Roy just stared.

"Are you here to get revenge? To kill me?" the words sliced though the air viciously towards Roy.

Black-blue eyes widened. "Kill you? Why would I do that?"

"Because!" the boy shouted. "I'm the reason all of this happened! I'm the one who caused so much death and confusion . . . I brought us _here_. It's all my fault!"

* * *

Sorry for any mistakes. Tell me if there are any big ones i should know about.

Reviews help! Plus they're awesome, so you should be awesome and send me some really awesome reviews . . . Prussia will be very happy, so happy that he'll apear in the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

"**Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all**

**But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall"**

**-Awake my soul**

Antonio and Francis were both quite use to Gilbert's eccentric nature. They'd spent their years with the strange red eyed man learning about him and learning from him. And Gilbert had done the same. They were all use to the craziness and insanity that was in each other's hearts.

But when they walked through Gilbert's apartment door, carefully placing their shoed feet around the peeping chicks, and walked back to the bedroom they stopped, shocked stiff.

Gilbert was smirking at himself in his full length mirror. His red eyes quickly spotted the two in the mirror and his grin grew. "Hey! Do you guys like it?" He spun, dark blue fabric rustling in the air. "Pretty awesome, huh?"

The two remained shocked as old memories flooded inside them. Francis was the first to wake and he face-palmed with a groan. "That look has been dead for centuries, mon amour. It does not flatter you at all."

"Really? Maybe I have gotten too old for it," Gilbert mumbled, shrugged, and turned back to the mirror. He pulled at the red cuffed blue jacket and fixed his old fashioned hat which he had plucked the feather from. "My old uniform was about to fall apart so I had to go to that man at the corner and force him to make me a new one." A small chick was resting on top the hat sporting its own little hat and red and blue cloak, staring at itself with as much pride as Gilbert. "Eh. Whatever. I'm still going to wear it."

"Are you going to a party?" Francis asked as he walked over to Gilbert. He stood beside Gilbert in the mirror trying not to stare at his beautiful self too long and cocked his head, a sour taste in his mouth.

Gilbert bared his teeth in a smile. "Nah. Thought I'd look pretty awesome on the battlefield wearing this—what do you think Antonio?" He asked, looking back and noticing the Spaniard was still standing at the door. "What's wrong?"

Antonio's eyes were downcast, his hands clenched tightly. It took everything he had to look up and smile a wide smile, to shake off the distress that was gnawing at his heart. "Nothing," he said happily. "You do look rather awesome, Gilbert."

A smile returned to Gilbert's lips. "Aw, I've trained you well. Of course I look awesome in it! I still think that your red coat was way hotter—didn't show all the blood."

Antonio closed his eyes at the memories and opened them before the shadows behind his eyelids could mock him. "Hey. Let's go get some food. I'm starving~"

"Sure," Gilbert said preparing to walk out of the room.

"Nuh-uh!" Francis snapped quickly grabbing onto the red eyed man. "I refuse to walk anywhere with you dressed like this!"

"What? You _fought_ besides me dressed like this"

"Yeah, but that was in the 1700s. I'd throw myself in a lion cage than walk down the street with you. Change, now."

"Nah, I think I'd like to see you get eaten by a lion."

Antonio and Francis caught each other's eyes, smiled at each other, and quickly pounced upon Gilbert. Gilbert gave a little yelp as Francis quickly worked off his coat and began to unbutton his shirt. Antonio was already working at his pants. Gilbert was about to fight back but instead smiled and gave in as he was forced onto the bed so Antonio could pull off his long boots.

They all laughed despite themselves as Gilbert stood up only in his underwear. For a moment they forgot everything, the world, their responsibilities, the choices they made and just laughed. Francis ruffled Gilbert's hair and Antonio wound his arms around the Prussian's waist as Gilbert began to pout at the cold. Francis quickly tore about Gilbert's closet in search of the perfect Friday night outfight, completely ignoring Gilbert's opinions.

Ten minutes later the Bad Friend's Trio was outside and taking the world by storm. They couldn't walk down a street, no matter how normally they were dressed, and not catch eyes. A few women smiled at them, giggled when they passed them. Even a few men would stop and stare, winking and calling out. The three didn't mind, they liked the attention and the stares.

Gilbert walked in-between Antonio and Francis. He didn't exactly like that, he felt trapped between them, like they were blocking any means of escape.

"So are we going to a bar or what?" Gilbert asked as he stared at the receding sun behind grey clouds.

Francis shook his head. "Not tonight."

"What? Why?" I've waited all week for a nice drink!"

Antonio laughed, it was forced but no one could tell. "You had a drink with us two nights ago."

"Whatever. All I'm trying to say is that we should be out getting drunk of our asses—"

"Again, not tonight," Francis said. "Go inside."

Gilbert looked at the shop they had stopped at and raised an eyebrow. "You've got to be kidding me, Francis. Who in their right mind would spend their Friday night at a café?"

The café was small and painted a sunflower yellow. It had a French name that Gilbert could not pronounce and all-in-all looked rather gay. Gilbert shrugged and walked inside.

"Welcome," a man said from behind the counter. "Ah, Francis, I saved you a table near the back. Go ahead and sit down and I'll be back in a second."

"What? You already planned this all out?" Gilbert asked as Francis latched arms with him and dragged him to the back of the café.

Francis shrugged. "We need to talk."

Gilbert looked back at Antonio who was quietly following. He managed to see the Spaniards face for a second, dark and ruminating, before green eyes spotted him looking and the dark face quickly change, replaced by a quivering smile.

"They better have some form of strong liquor, or I'm leaving," Gilbert mumbled as soon as he had sat down. Again Francis and Antonio had sat on opposite sides of him, blocking his hope of fleeing to the nearest bar. "So why are we here when we could be picking up hot dates?"

"Umm," Antonio began. "Gilbert, _mi amigo_," he paused, tasting unspoken words in his mouth, trying to speak his heart without breaking Gilbert's. "You see—"

"So what can I get you guys?" a waiter asked. He smiled at the three of them.

"We'll just have coffee," Francis said, quickly shooing the man away.

Gilbert blanched at the idea of coffee. He hated it. "Psh, I'm not drinking your black, bitter water, Francis. I-"

"Gilbert!" Antonio mumbled but the Prussian paid him no attention. "Gilbert!" he suddenly shouted

People in the café turned to look but quickly turned away to whisper amongst themselves.

Gilbert blinked. "What?"

"I won't let you hurt him," Antonio whispered, his eyes downcast as words were lost to him. "Not Roy . . ."

Gilbert turned to Francis. "Who?"

Francis sighed. The Frenchman looked tired and worn as he said, "Amestris, Gilbert. He's talking about Amestris. He wants to know what you are going to do with him."

Gilbert looked between the two. "I'm going to do exactly what you did to those Indians down in South America, Antonio," he said with a smirk. "I'm going to kill and conquer, earn me some new land to call my own since mine was taken from me. That's all, nothing big."

Francis groaned. "Gilbert I told you to drop this idea!"

"I've already decided," Gilbert snarled. "I've already started planning, moving my forces. You can't stop me, now." He paused for a second his fists turning white around the knuckles. "You can only join me."

"What?" Antonio gasped. He quickly hushed when the man came walking towards them, placing steaming cups of coffee before each of them. He watched the man go before he dared speak again. "Roy is my friend, Gilbert. I won't hurt him! I won't turn my back on him."

Giblet bared his teeth. He could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. He quickly grabbed a sugar packet from the container on the small table and began to rip it apart, spilling the sweet contents onto the brown surface of the table.

"Then what about me?" Gilbert asked. He forced his voice to sound small, feeble, broken. He had soothed his face and there was only a sad expression on his lips, a small crease between his eyebrows. His true feelings were now buried deep inside. "What are you doing to me, Antonio?"

"I'm—" The Spaniard stopped, bit his lip.

Gilbert looked up and into the green eyes. "You're turning your back on me. I thought we were friends—fuck, more than friends. And now you're leaving me for someone you've just barely met."

"Roy's a good man. Deep down . . . I like, Roy" Antonio grew quiet again. His eyes grew darker as angry tears filled his eyes. His hands were ringed in his shirt. "I love you, Gilbert. I trust you, Gilbert. I need you, Gilbert," he said as he tried to hide his own dark emotions. Both Francis and Gilbert knew Antonio deep into his dark core, the Spaniards sweet and happy outer appearance could no longer fool either of them. But Antonio was feeling so weak at the moment, tearing himself up between two bonds, he couldn't stop the tears.

Francis quickly grabbed Gilbert's hand before he could reach for a fifth packet of sugar to destroy. He quickly looked at the door of the café before training his eyes on Gilbert. "Come on, Gilbert. You don't need to do this." He forced a smile. "You should be happy that West gave you some land or else you'd be dead as a door nail. Let's all just forget about conquering and killing and go find that bar you were talking about before."

A minute passed by. Silence filled the air between the three friends. Friends . . . the word didn't seem to fit them at the moment. Gilbert understood this.

He stood quickly, snatched his hand away from the Frenchman. He wouldn't be held back. Not anymore. He couldn't stand always being in the shadows of everyone's victories. He couldn't just sit back, not while an opportunity like this was staring him in the face.

"I'll see you guys later. Maybe I'll invite you over when I'm done kicking Amestris' ass."

"Gilbert!" Francis called but Gilbert was already walking towards the door.

He pushed the door open but frowned when it wouldn't open all the way.

"Ow," a quiet voice mumbled from the other side.

Gilbert knew that voice.

"Mathew, what are you doing here?" he asked as soon as he was able to get the door open.

Mathew rubbed at his sore nose, his cheeks red from the cold. "Francis and Antonio asked me to come here. I'm sorry it took me so long. The plane was late and I had to find this café." He smiled a shy smile up at Gilbert. "I'm not very good at reading addresses."

Rain had started to pour outside; Mathew was already drenched, his curly blonde hair clinging to his numb cheeks.

"What? Those bastards made you come all the way here? Why?" Gilbert asked feeling rain fall onto his face.

"They wanted me to talk to you . . ." Mathew said. He was about to continue when he sneezed.

Gilbert laughed at the sad sight. "Come on, little Mathew," he said with a smile and grabbed Mathew's hand. "You're too cute! I'm taking you home!"

"Umm, okay," Mathew mumbled completely forgetting Alfred's advice of never going to Gilbert's house alone.

They ran through the rain together as the rain continued to get worse and worse, it almost seemed to match Gilbert's mood, but the warm hand he held kept the darkest of thoughts from entering his mind.

He quickly opened his apartment door and pulled Mathew inside as thunder began to crackle outside. "Geez, you're sopping wet, and since I am so awesome I will totally let you borrow some of my clothes. So strip!"

Mathew just blinked. "What?"

"Do you need help?"

"N-no!"

"Dang. Well, I'm gonna go grab you some clothes. Be back in a flash!" Gilbert quickly left the living room.

Mathew stared around the strange room, frowning at all the dirty clothes left hanging anywhere and everywhere. He suddenly noticed a quiet sound at his feet and he looked down to see several yellow fluff balls. The chicks all peeped at him, surrounding his feet and pecking at his shoelaces. He smiled down at them, bending over so he could touch their soft feathers.

"So why are you here again?" Gilbert called from his bedroom as he tried to find something that wasn't dirty or didn't have a naked lady on it.

"Francis and Antonio asked me to talk to you," Mathew answered.

"'Bout what?"

"Umm, about Roy."

Gilbert stopped digging.

"I mean, I haven't met him yet, but from what I've heard he seems really nice."

"He's not that special," Gilbert mumbled as he found a white shirt and a pair of sweat pants.

"What did you say? I couldn't hear you?" Mathew asked.

"Nothing," Gilbert said as he walked back into the living room. He threw the clothes at Mathew who caught them clumsily.

Mathew stared at the clothes, biting his lip.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Gilbert asked. He was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, and watching the Canadian.

"I can't change if you're watching," Mathew mumbled shyly.

Gilbert stopped himself from breaking into a fit of laughter as he turned around. "What were we talking about?"

"Roy," Mathew said as he began to unbutton his shirt. He folded it nicely and gently set it on the floor, shooing away the little chick. "Antonio and Francis said you were planning to fight with him."

"I'm not_ planning_ on doing anything," Gilbert said.

Mathew pulled on the shirt Gilbert had given him as he thought about what to say next. "You can turn around now," he finally said as he pulled on the sweat pants next.

Gilbert turned around with a smirk on his face.

Mathew blushed as Gilbert's red eyes studied him. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn't go around hurting people. I mean, I know being a nation means that's what you're supposed to do. But, let's not push Roy into a corner. Why destroy someone new to this world when we could help him? Umm, do you know what I'm saying? Gilbert?"

"Shut up," Gilbert muttered. Outside lightening crackled. The light in the room flickered and turned off; neither of the nations seemed surprised. They just stared at each other. "I don't care."

"But, Gilbert."

"Let's not think about stuff like that," Gilbert said as he crossed the room towards Mathew. He took the Canadian in his arms and whispered, "Let's just enjoy this moment. Right here, right now." Gilbert gently brushed aside Mathew's wet hair.

"Gilbert," Mathew protested as he trembled beneath the touch, but only ended up sighing. "Okay, Gilbert. I believe in you. You're a good man; you'll do what's right." And he rested his head against Gilbert's chest, listening to the very human heart inside.

"You know, it's too fucking bad you're French," Gilbert mumbled against Mathew's ear. "I think we need to get a little German awesomeness inside of you."

"W-what?"

Gilbert began to inch towards the bedroom, but the chicks began to peep loudly and peek at their feet. They just wound up falling over the top Gilbert's red couch, a couch that matched nothing in the room, but had been bought just for the fact that it was awesome. They both laughed as they lay sprawled together on the couch.

There was heartache on Gilbert's lips as Mathew kissed him. He hoped to take that heartache away, even for just a night, as he deepened the kiss. Mathew was brave when he was alone with Gilbert, when the lights were off and only the heat of Gilbert's body was next to him. He wished to pass that courage through his love, make the Prussian see that he could choose his own path, make the right decisions.

Gilbert tried to convince himself that he wasn't undressing Mathew just to distract himself, not kissing the man out of love, but just to keep his mind of Roy and the thought of Mathew's wish for peace.

Peace was over rated anyway.

* * *

I had the most perverted conversation with my friend about Prussia. **"I think we need to get a little German awesomeness inside of you." **This totally belongs to her, her meaning AlTHR33  
She's fucking awesome~~~ Love her!

Yeah, this chapter is all about Gilbert, don't deny his awesomeness.

Review if you have the time, and thanks for reading!


End file.
